


Get Me Through This Nightmare

by Lizardbeth



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Cylons, Episode Related, F/M, Grief, Loneliness, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-21
Updated: 2010-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-06 13:06:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbeth/pseuds/Lizardbeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After <i>Maelstrom</i>, two lonely people find a way to connect through the walls that separate them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Me Through This Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally begun for [](http://community.livejournal.com/bsg_pornbattle/profile)[**bsg_pornbattle**](http://community.livejournal.com/bsg_pornbattle/) number 3. Yes, last year. Then it got long and unporny.
> 
> AU post _Maelstrom_.

A week after Kara's death, the outer door opens. Caprica stirs from the cot, curious, since it's not meal time and she has infrequent visitors. She gets more curious when she sees it's Sam Anders.

He looks like hell -- like he hasn't slept or shaved or eaten in a week. His blue eyes are burned skeletons, dark and dead.

She braces herself for anger, for accusations, hate. But she gets none of it; he's not even looking at her. She rises from the cot and approaches the wall slowly. "Sam?"

He doesn't take the phone, and his eyes wander to the corner of the cell, away from her. He takes a long time to answer, as if the words have to rise up through the thick grief. "You... you saved me in the garage. It was you."

"Yes," she murmurs. But there's no reason she shouldn't be just another Six to him, so she asks, "How do you know?"

He doesn't answer and after a few more seconds, he turns and wanders out again, leaving her confused.

Two days later he comes in again, and this time she hurries to the front, so he can hear her through the ventilation holes in the hard plastic. "Sam? What is it? Is there... is there something I can... do?" she asks, knowing she's the one in the cell and there's nothing she can do. But there seems to be something he wants.

"Why?" he asks.

"'Why'?" she repeats in confusion. "Why do I want to know why you're here?"

He shakes his head. "Why.... did you save me?"

"Because..." she thinks back, and goes with the simplest explanation, "it was right."

"No," he murmurs, "it wasn't." In the simple words she can read so many things, but clear as a bell is the wish to follow Kara in death.

"Sam." She presses her hand against the glass in a futile effort to reach him. "No, don't think that. It's not true. I know you're hurting, but that's not the answer." He says nothing; maybe he doesn't even hear her. "Talk to me, please, say something...."

He does none of those things; he leaves. But this time, she knows he'll be back.

When he comes next, he has a bottle in his hand. His eyes are fever bright, but she's not sure if he's actually drunk or not. For the first time he seems to actually look at her. He's the first person, besides Helo, on this ship to have no hatred in his face, even though she knows, by any reckoning, he should.

The list of her sins is long, but maybe, just maybe, if she helps this resistance hero from falling into his own version of a storm, she might atone for some of it.

"Sam."

He stares at her in challenge, though he's not really talking to her. "I loved her. Even when everyone was telling me to cut her loose, move on, find someone else, I loved her. I thought if I let her go, she'd come back to me. And she did. But it was too frakking late. I couldn't stop her -- I tried to get her to come with me, but I didn't do enough, I didn't try hard enough. I couldn't --" his voice breaks to a whisper. "I couldn't save her."

"No," Caprica agrees gently. "No one could save her, Sam."

He slumps against the glass, his eyes tightly shut, chest heaving in sobbing breaths which are somehow all the worse to hear because he isn't crying.

"I wish I could touch you," she whispers into the glass, touching it where his hair presses against it. "I wish I could hold you, wash all your pain away. You don't deserve any of this."

He sinks down the wall, until he ends on the floor, his large frame deflated. He hides his face in his hands and shakes. "I don't even know why I'm here."

She kneels down on the opposite side of the wall. "Because you know I care," she says. "And I have nothing to do but listen. I just wish I could help you more."

He lifts his head, and from a hand-span away, his eyes meet hers through the transparent wall.

Her lips part in shock. _Dear God, he has beautiful eyes_...

It's a terrible thing - it must be a sin -- to feel a stirring in her lower belly of pure lustful desire for a man devastated by grief. She swallows, pushes it down, and tries a soft smile. "I'm here," she tells him. "I'll listen."

He doesn't say anything more, but his silence is loud as he sits there, curled up next to the wall. He drinks from the bottle until he finishes it, but it doesn't seem to affect him at all.

An hour passes, then two. She stays there with him, until she wonders if he fell asleep. But every time she looks, his eyes are open, and he's staring blankly at he opposite wall.

Somehow she isn't surprised the Gaius in her head hasn't shown himself since Sam first walked in. She takes that to mean that she's doing the right thing.

Finally someone comes to bring her tray for dinner and breaks their peace.

The guard seems uncomfortable and very young. "Mister Anders, you can't stay here."

Sam stirs a little, pulling up his legs. "Why not? What difference does it make?" he asks in a raw, unused voice and doesn't care what the answer is.

She glances at the guard and doesn't want to make things difficult with him or they might not let Sam in at all, and she has the feeling that he needs this. "Sam, you need to go eat something. Please."

He takes a few seconds and then says, "Okay." He climbs to his feet and starts away, his steps overly careful. He gets to the door then he comes back to tell her, "Thank you."

"Any time."

The next day she realizes she's excited when she hears the outer door open, wondering if he's coming back. And it is.

At first she thinks it's a good sign that he shaved, but he looks upset - hands tightening into fists and jaw muscle jumping.

"What is it? What happened?" she asks.

He can't answer at first. He shakes his head and his throat works, speechless. Then he inhales a shaky breath. "They... they want me to go through her stuff," he murmurs "I can't do it. I get to the hatch and I can't breathe."

"Can someone else do it?" she asks. "Helo, maybe?"

His head jerks up, eyes suddenly ablaze. "No! Nobody touches it."

"But..."

The flare is gone, and he drops his head again, looking at the floor. "I know what they tell me. I heard the wireless, I made them show me the dradis.... I know it's true," he goes on, as if he doesn't even know she's there. Or she's a priest taking private confession. "But I don't believe it. It can't be true. It's not _right_."

"You loved her," Caprica murmurs. She doesn't know a lot about death, but she knows love. "So of course you can't let go."

His hands curl into fists against the glass, and he leans against it. "I can't. I don't want to."

"Sam, it hasn't even been two weeks. Give yourself some time to mourn. You're mourning not just Kara, you're mourning all the lost chances, the lost time, all the things you might have had... It'll take time."

He doesn't reply, but he swallows hard and crumples to the floor.

"I'm not waking up from this, am I?" he whispers, and the broken look in his eyes hits her in the chest like it has actual weight.

"I'm sorry." The words are weak, nothing like what she feels, but she doesn't know what else to say.

"Everybody's sorry," he says, with a hint of bitterness. "Everybody knew, and everybody did frak-all to help. And now it's too frakking late." He waits several minutes, until adding so softly she can barely hear, "I keep thinking she'll come in here wondering what the frak I'm doing. And it's never going to happen."

Silence falls, until he suddenly lets out a breath and looks around like he just woke up, and pushes himself up to his feet. "I shouldn't lay all this on you. It's not your problem. I'm sorry."

"No!" Her voice stops him before he gets to the door. "No, don't go. Sam, it's all right. I don't mind listening. If talking to me helps you, then stay. Please." She pressed a hand against the glass. "Let me help. Let me do something for you."

He comes back to the glass and matches his hand to hers. They're still for a moment, eyes locked. "I'm here," she murmurs. "I'm here as long as you want."

 

* * * 

 

He keeps coming to visit her. At first they don't talk about much. She learns from Sharon that he's sleeping in Kara's bunk, and apparently no one tells him to stop. But she knows how it is -- humans can get used to anything, even civilian husbands wandering around where they have no business being.

But gradually he starts asking about the Colonies and what happened with the Cylons. He talks about how much it hurt to find out two of the people in the Resistance he trusted most turned out to be Cylons, and Caprica winces with shame.

He doesn't talk about New Caprica, but it hovers over her, and she feels like she needs to confess her part and her knowledge. But she holds back, knowing she wants to talk to ease herself, not him.

Some visits are bad days for him and he's wrapped in a numb silence. On those days all she can do is sit on the floor opposite him and wish futilely that she could reach through the glass and pull him against her.

 

* * * 

 

One early shift, she wakes to the door opening, to find Admiral Adama entering the outer door. She goes promptly to the phone, not wanting to risk mis-hearing anything. "Admiral."

He says without preamble, "Sam Anders has requested permission to have your cell opened so he can come inside. Why would he ask that?"

She stares at him in surprise. "I - I don't know," she answers. "I didn't ask him to ask you. But we've been talking; I've been trying to help him, Admiral. Maybe he figured that would be easier than talking through the glass."

"He's been here many times since Starbuck died," Adama says. It's not a question. "What do you talk about?"

"Caprica. Cylons. Starbuck. Lots of things," she shrugs.

He doesn't answer right away, but looks troubled. "You're a Cylon, he fought Cylons. I'm concerned in his grief he wants to take it out on you. So I'm going to deny -- "

She realizes he's concerned about her, which is amazing but sort of ridiculous at the same time. She exclaims, "No, please! Admiral, he's not going to hurt me." She knows what happened to Sharon in this cell, but the idea of Sam beating or raping her is unthinkable. He wouldn't visit or talk to her as he has, if he was filled with that kind of hate. "Look, didn't he tell you? I saved his life on Caprica, he knows that. I'm not going to hurt him, and he's not going to hurt me. He's just... " she thinks wildly what to say that could explain. "He hurts _so_ much, Admiral. He's struggling to see there's any kind of future without her. And while I don't really understand why he picked me to talk to, I'll talk to him gladly. The rest of you are too busy for him, but I'm not. Let me help."

His eyes meet hers for a long moment, and she tries to show him only earnestness and compassion. If Adama is wavering even slightly, she wants him to let Sam come in her cell. Sam's a tactile person and so is she - and she has the feeling one tight hug might help him more than six conversations.

"Are you going to testify about Baltar's actions in the Colonies and New Caprica?" he asks.

Frak. Her heart seems to lurch in her chest. _Gaius_. She forgot about Gaius. She forgot what's supposed to happen in a little over a month.

But she remembers how Gaius left her behind at the algae planet to go off with D'Anna. And she knows she has to make a gesture of loyalty, or that door will never open for anyone to come in, or for her to go out. So she shoves down those other feelings, and lifts her chin.

"I will tell the truth about what I know, if you let Sam in to visit me and you turn off the cameras in here."

"Why?" he counters. "So you can escape?"

"Where would I go, Admiral? I know I'm safer here than among the people," she reminds him. "But I don't think a little privacy is too much to ask for in exchange for what I'm offering."

He nods slowly, searching her eyes. "If I order the cameras turned off, you realize the guards won't see and won't be able to intervene, if he hurts you."

She doesn't say that she can fight back, though of course she can, and she doesn't say that she's willing to do whatever she needs to do, to help him, though that's true, too. She's died before, so getting slapped around by a grief-stricken Sam Anders is hardly anything worth worrying about. But she answers with pure confidence, "He won't. It's a risk I'll take."

After a moment, he agrees, with a nod, "Then I'll approve it. I don't trust you, as I do Sharon. But this is a good start if you carry out your end."

She swallows and nods her head. "Yes, Admiral."

 

* * * 

 

The guards come in with Sam after dinner. "You're crazy, Anders," one of them says as he unlocks the inner door.

"We're just going to talk," Sam says with an uncaring shrug.

A guard raises his brows meaningfully. "Oh really? You've been talking for weeks, you sure it's not a different talking you mean?" He doesn't need the rude gesture to accompany the tone of his voice that makes her stomach churn. Sometimes, she thinks the attacks killed the wrong Humans.

Sam's facing her, not the two guards, so she's the only one who sees his face grow hard and his eyes cold, and she knows if they say one more word he's going to turn and slam them into the wall.

His reaction reassures her, but it's alarming, too, since if he does it, he'll never visit again. She says loudly, as if she didn't hear most of it, trying to divert them both, "Talking. Come on!"

They open the door and she lets out a breath. "Oh, thank God, now we can talk without shouting or using that stupid phone."

But Sam's not quite finished. He turns to the guard who thought he was being funny and explains in a voice that's both quiet and chilling, "When a Three had me at the barrel of my own gun on Caprica, that woman in there killed one of her own kind to save my life. So you will treat her with some gods-dammed _respect_, do you hear me?"

The guard responds reflexively to the tone, "Yes, sir." And both guards' eyes dart to her with astonishment and new respect dawning there. She can practically see their minds chewing at this new fact -- not only did she help Athena rescue Hera, but she helped the famous Caprica Resistance hero, maybe she wasn't so bad...

_Wait until you learn all my sins_, she thinks sadly, _then all this respect will turn right back to hate_.

They lock Sam in the cell with her. "Twenty minutes," one of them says and they leave.

"I don't think he meant any harm with his crude joke," she murmurs.

He shakes his head. "He thought I wanted in here to rape you. And if it's okay for me to do it, how long before they start thinking it's okay for them to do it? No, better to make them see you're a person, not just a ... a thing."

Knowing how many Humans see her and her kind as nothing more than _things_, her heart feels warm at the confirmation that he doesn't see her that way. She smiles. "Thank you." And she teases, "My protector."

He glances away, seeming embarrassed. "It made me angry."

A strange awkward silence falls between them. They're alone in the cell, they're not being watched, and yet she seems to be stuck to her cot, unable to go to him or speak. He seems similarly frozen, standing just inside the door. She can feel her pulse quicken, in response to the uncertainty.

She's the first to break the silence. "So, tell me, how do you know I'm the same Six?" she asks.

"I remembered what you said about loving a human," he explained. "It had to be Baltar."

She nods and her fingers twist in her pants. _Gaius_, she thinks of him and gives an inner sigh. It's strange to think Gaius is also in a cell, possibly not far from her, but he might as well be dead since they'll never be together again. When she tells the truth, one or both of them will probably die, though she thinks it will probably be her -- Gaius' greatest sin is believing her lies.

She looks up at Sam, and for a moment, she wants to confess to him, as he has to her. But he's not ready to hear, and she fears seeing that cold and angry face turned on her. So she holds her silence, pretending it's for his sake, when she knows it's really for her own.

"Why did you want to come in?" she asks curiously. "You didn't mention anything about it to me."

He shrugs as if it doesn't matter. "This is the only place I feel... alive," he answers. "I wanted to be closer. And if you snap my neck, I don't care."

"I'm not going to hurt you, Sam, even if you think you want me to. That's not what you need," she answers gently.

He swallows. "What then?"

"Come here," she beckons him closer to sit next to her on the cot. As soon as he's down, she scoots closer, puts both arms around his broad shoulders, and hugs him tightly. "This," she whispers into his hair. "This is what you need."

At first, he's painfully stiff in her embrace, not moving and not hugging her back. Then he gives a choked little breath and lets himself relax into her. His arms slide around her and his fists press against her back. She's strong and holds him tightly as he surrenders to the anguish, dry sobbing breaths as he shakes in her grip. "I'm here," she murmurs. "You're not alone. I know you feel alone, Sam; I know you feel as if the whole universe has left you on your own, but you're not." She caresses his hair and the nape of his neck and shoulders with one hand, the other still circling him.

She tries to think of it like comforting Hera. And at first, that's all it is. The pain comes off him in nearly visible waves, in every line of his body as if the blow to his heart was physical. But she can't quite forget that he's not Hera, that the body in her arms is all man. He's large, taller than she is, and his hair is just as soft as she imagined it would be. He smells of soap, of alcohol, and somehow like the forest she sees in her projection, green and earthy.

He grows calmer, the ragged breaths slowly evening out. But he doesn't try to move away. He turns his head to nestle more securely against her shoulder, and his hands open to lay on her lower back. She feels his palm and each finger on her skin, as if the fabric of her camisole top isn't even there.

Her fingers touch his shoulder and down one arm, bare from the sleeveless shirts he wears even though his skin seems chilled. He feels strong and solid, but for all his size and muscular strength there is a gentleness in him as well that calls to her.

His hands slide up her back to find her bare skin and pull her flush against him. Something changes in the way he feels against her, seconds before his lips brush beneath her ear. She thinks it's an accident, but then he kisses her again, his mouth and breath hot on her skin. There is nothing accidental about it at all. She shivers but feels too warm, and she doesn't pull away.

Whatever he might be thinking - if he's thinking at all - it feels like something she's always wanted. She wants and he wants, and that's all that matters.

She slides a leg around his waist, to kneel across his lap and she frames his face in her hands to bring their mouths together. They cling, and she feels the desperation in him, as he moans into her. His hand comes between them searching out her breast, and it's easy for his fingers to push aside the clinging fabric of her halter top and reach inside.

She leans into him to press her breast more firmly into his grip, then he slides his palm across her hardening nipple and returns to rub the peak with his thumb.

"Sam," that's all she can find breath to say. She's still kissing him, tasting him, her tongue lightly stroking his as her lips tingle from his bristly stubble. She might have sat on his legs and kissed him forever, except he drags his lips from hers and starts kissing down her throat. She tilts her head back to give him room, and finds herself on her back, legs wrapped around him, as he kisses down her chest. Her fingers caress what she can reach of him, and she arches her back as his mouth finds her breast. Then he sucks on her nipple, and her fingers in his hair spasm shut, tangling and pulling his hair sharply. She feels it all through her body, liquid light from her chest to gather in a shining pool between her legs.

"Oh," she murmurs, "Yes, Sam. That feels so... so... "

The narrow grey confines of her cell melt away and golden sunlight filters through green leaves.

His hands skim her sides, like he can't get enough of touching her, and when he cups her between the legs she inhales sharply, her heart jumping to a faster rhythm.

His eyes are closed, she notices, when he raises his head to concentrate on caressing her through the fabric. It's light, gentle, and it's making her burn. "Oh please, Sam, more."

His mouth comes down on hers again, now harder, more insistent, as if he's feeling the same burning she is. And he must be, since she feels something prodding at her lower belly that wasn't there before. When she slides her hand across his pants, she feels his erection jump under her hand and he has to tear his mouth from hers, to gasp a ragged breath.

"Now," she says. "Now, there's not much time." She opens his belt and zipper. He helps her, kneeling up to push his pants down his hips, and for a moment she stares. It's a vision from God - he kneels before her, naked and aroused, bathed in golden light from the sun slanting through the trees.

She swallows and shoves at her own pants, wriggling them off, tangling them in one foot in her haste. Then she lifts her hands to him, to pull him into her.

He fits perfectly, and he pauses to let her adjust and to catch his breath.

"Now, Sam, now, make me feel God. Let me love you."

For the first time since he came to see her, as he thrusts into her, his eyes are clear as they look into hers.

But she can't look for too long. He pushes her tighter and tighter, until she's shaking with need and panting for breath. Then his hands grip her hips holding her up a little higher, and he drives into her with a groan torn out of his lungs.

The deep thrust touches her differently, sends a bolt of fire right through her, and it's like dying again - sudden and overwhelming, dazzling her senses with light and feeling.

As she spirals down from the heights, only one coherent thought comes to mind: _Dear God, I am sorry that Kara Thrace had to die for me to feel that. But I can't regret it._

With several sharp jerks, Sam spills into her, following her with a breathy cry. He holds himself over her for a moment, before his shaking arms give out, and he crumples, a heavy and hot weight she wants to keep there forever.

"Thank you," she murmurs, caressing his hair.

His breathing soon slows, but then he starts to shake. Worried that he's crying in remorse, she turns her head to look at his face. But he's got a bit of a wry smile turning his lips, and she realizes he's chuckling. "Turns out Givens was right, wasn't he? So much for talking."

"I think it was a very good conversation," she murmurs, brushing a loose strand of sweaty hair back behind his ear. "But we better get dressed. They'll be back."

"You're assuming we didn't just give them a show," he says, but not as if he cares all that much. He kisses her chest and takes several deep breaths before forcing himself up.

She sits up beside him and catches his hand. "Sam. I just want ... Are you okay with this?" she asks, in sudden concern.

"I ..." he's about to give her a flippant answer, but the shadows flow back into his eyes. His free hand rises to clasp the dogtag on his chest and he can't meet her eyes. He swallows and whispers, "I forgot. For those few minutes, I forgot. And now I feel... I don't know. Ask me tomorrow when this wears off."

She squeezes his hand in hers and lets go. "I hope it was a blessing," she murmurs. "I hope it was a gift, for you. It was for me."

A muscle works in his jaw, but he nods. "It was."

They dress in silence, and they're sitting side by side on the cot, without a word between them, when the outer door opens.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" she asks him.

He stands up, and though he doesn't smile, his eyes meet hers. "I'll be here," he agrees.

She smiles and lifts a hand in farewell as he goes. Her body's still humming with the aftermath, when she stretches out on the grass in the dappled sunlight and feels the breeze across her skin.

 

_end._


End file.
